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Despite the eyepatch, a slightly bumpy nose and a little silvering of his black hair at his temples, one could not miss the carved jawline or the dark lashes surrounding one grey-blue eye. He was older than her by fifteen years, yet no one would ever compare him to any of those husbands she and her sisters always expressed horror at.
Releasing the curl once more, Ivy set her hands upon her lap. They had several more hours of travel and a stop for lunch at an inn before they reached their destination. They could not sit in silence the whole way. If she was going to make a success of this, she needed to speak up but, alas, speaking up was not in her nature, mostly because the pithy words would end up tangled on her tongue and she would turn as red as a strawberry.
Now, however, was not the time to worry about turning red or fumbling over her words. After all, the viscount was not some snide person commenting on her family or how she was squeezed into her dress or even questioning if she should really be eating that slice of cake despite the fact she had starved herself all day just so she could.
He was her husband.
Oh boy.
She looked at him. No, not a boy. Most definitely not a boy. There was no denying the viscount was all man, and that realization left her feeling slightly warm under her fichu.
He glanced at her, and she dropped her gaze to her lap. Foolish Ivy. How was she to function as his wife if she could not even look at him.
Forcing a smile that felt tremulous on her lips, she twisted on the carriage seat slightly. “So, uh, my lord...”
“Yes?” He didn’t look at her.
“What is...that is...” She puffed out a breath. “What is your favorite color?”
A brow rose and he met her gaze. “My favorite color?”
“Yes.”
“Why should you wish to know my favorite color?”
“Well, we should get to know one another do you not think? Besides, it might help if there is redecorating to be done at the estate house.”
“Redecorating?” he repeated, as though he’d never heard the word uttered before.
“Yes. It’s quite common for a new wife to put her touch on the house.”
He peered at her for several moments, a crease between his brows. “I don’t think I have a favorite color.”
“Surely there must be one you prefer.”
He lifted his shoulders. “You may do what you wish, so long as it does not cost a fortune.”
“Oh.”
They lapsed into silence and Ivy resisted the urge to tug on her hair. She saw his gloved hand flex at his side.
“I suppose I don’t mind blue.”
“Blue.” A relieved smile moved across her mouth before she could prevent it. “Blue is a lovely color.”
“What about you, my lady?”
“I always liked green.”
“Green,” he murmured thoughtfully as though she had told him something of great value. “A nice color.”
“Yes.”
More seconds ticked by. The carriage rocked and her shoulder brushed his jacket sleeve. She scrabbled for all the questions she had burning through her mind but came up empty. Save from, she supposed, one. Dare she ask it? What if she did not like the answer?
Swallowing, she looked at him again and his posture stiffened. “My lord, I-I must ask. Why exactly did you offer for me that night?”
The viscount stared ahead. “Simple really. I’m a viscount. I need a wife.”
